


TMNT - Heated

by JustAnotherFan94



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Anger Management, Angst, Blood, Family, Injury, Physical Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherFan94/pseuds/JustAnotherFan94
Summary: Raphael messed up... Big time. [Rated T for self-harm/abuse]
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

Raphael didn’t think his hands could take much more of it. Still, he punched.

He ignored the searing pain that was shooting through his fist, up into his forearm, and nestling in his tight shoulder blades. He ignored the light pitters of blood that squelched from his knuckles. With each strike, another layer of forest green skin peeled away. He was sure his bones would wink out soon enough.

But, despite this, he punched at the brick: each strike staining it more with a seeping shade of burgundy. He watched, with dangerously wide eyes. Tearing and almost bloodshot, green orbs blindly watched the desperate thuds of his appendage.

“ **Gah. –Gr’ _ahh_**!”

Grunts, short and breathless, pulsed out with every strike. He continued, even as the light pressure of someone’s hand rested upon his left shoulder.

“I hardly see what good this will do,” a gravelly old voice said.

Raphael, not turning around, lowered his arms. His hands shook at his sides – light drips of blood plopping to the ground steadily. The elder voice continued.

“’Did the same thing once. When I was your age.”

Though the young turtle did not turn around, the old rat still held up his scarred paws. A smile creeped from his muzzle.

“I do not recommend it.”

Sighing, Raphael lowered his head and cocked it slightly to the left. In his profile, the shadowy light of the dojo revealed his sunken expression. Warm tears spilled from his weary eyes, as he faced the ground.

“Sensei…”

His voice, hoarse and choked, struggled to get out even that much. Swallowing hard, the turtle’s breath shuddered. Bloodied knuckles began to shake, sending more sprinklings of blood to the ground. His quaking jaw went slack.

“I… I d-didn’t mean to—”

“But you **did** , Raphael.”

Splinter’s voice, now a bit firmer, implored the turtle turn to him slowly. Raphael’s stare was still fixed at the floor. Again, the rat’s tone commanded his son’s attention.

“ **Look** at me.”

Shivering, the teen raised his head. Splinter’s brow softened as he gazed upon his son’s broken expression. His bony hand took Raphael’s bloody one.

“We all make mistakes,” the rat said, “But when we do… we find a way to remedy them.”

Blinking away some tears, Raphael quirked his brow. His father released his grip, turning his back to the young ninja. As he walked out of the dojo, he spoke in time with his footsteps.

“You’ll need bandages. Visit your brother in the infirmary when you’re through,” the rat echoed, keeping his stride.

Once his sensei had left the room, Raphael emanated a shaky breath. He sniffed gruffly, cleared his throat, and strode out of the dojo.

He passed through the common area of the lair. A stuffy quietness still hung in the air. Thumping in his chest hastened as he approached the shut door of Donatello’s work room. Normally, Raphael would have the courtesy to knock. However, as he looked down at his scabbed hand, he decided against this. Though a bit stiff, Raphael wrapped his right hand around the doorknob and opened the door.

As a creak in the doorframe startled them, Donatello and Leonardo turned quickly at the sound. The blue clad turtle’s intense, crystal eyes shot at the intruder.

“And just what the Hell do **you** want?”

Donatello studied the red clad terrapin, scoffing at the sight of Raphael’s hands.

“Great. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.”

Raphael tried to mask the lump caught in his throat as he spoke.

“D-don’t worry about it. J-just throw me a bandage.”

“Oh,” Leo snarled, “I’ll _throw_ somethin’ atcha, alright.”

The eldest’s fists flexed. Donatello grabbed at his bicep dismissively.

“Easy,” the purple clad turtle insisted, sneering at Raphael, “The last thing we need is _another_ person losing their temper around here.”

Raphael said nothing. His glassy eyes darted at the sound of a low moan. It was coming from behind Donatello and Leonardo. Between their stern bodices, the red clad turtle could barely make out a twitching, unconscious hand. The hand was clutching a nunchaku.

“He’s still out cold.”

Raphael’s attention was stolen back by Donatello’s shrill tone. The purple clad genius spoke without looking up. He spoke slowly as he walked over to his mahogany desk.

“’Seen a lot of bruises. And head injuries.”

Donatello opened the drawer so forcefully, he shook the desk.

“None like this.”

Raphael’s eyes gripped shut. A well of tears poured out, dripping onto his rapidly rising and falling plastron.

“I…I-I’m s-sorry—”

Donatello slammed the drawer, flinging a roll of bandages to the red clad turtle.

“Well, ‘ **sorry’** doesn’t _cut_ it!”

The teen’s piercing yell echoed throughout the room. Raphael, barely catching the roll, clasped in his shaking hands. He looked to his eldest brother. His helpless eyes yearned for his solace. With an unforgiving stare, Leonardo did not grant his wish.

“You got your bandages. Now get out.”

More tears trailed down Raphael’s cheeks.

“I-I…”

Before Raphael could continue, Leonardo closed in on the red clad teen. Inches from each other’s noses, the blue clad turtle spoke as if he were about to spit fire.

“If **you’re** not outta here in **two seconds** , I _swear_ I’ll—"

“Rrrrraph…?”

The three turtles turned to the low sound. On Donatello’s repurposed metal medical table, his swollen eyes still shut, Michelangelo’s head turned slightly. Leonardo’s tone went from fire to honey in an instant.

“Mikey,” he whispered, bolting over to his youngest brother.

Donatello followed suit, bringing a fresh ice pack with him from the refrigerator.

“H-how y’doin’, bud?” the purple clad turtle hushed, placing the pack on his brother’s head.

The orange clad turtle’s eyes only opened about a crease.

“O…kaaaay,” he mumbled, his words drawn and groggy, “W’r’s… Wh’r’s Rrraph…”

Donatello and Leonardo shared a glance. Then, Donatello looked back at Michelangelo.

“He’s, uh… He’s here.”

It was hard to tell, but the corner of Michelangelo’s mouth turned up slightly to smile.

“W’wanna taaaaalk to’m.”

“Y…You ‘wanna talk to him’?” Donatello repeated.

“Mhm,” the youngest hummed again, groaning a bit as he shook his head slowly.

“Easy, easy,” Donatello hushed again, “You should really rest… You could talk to him later, y’know.”

“’S’ impor’ant.” Michelangelo replied, “I c’n go faaaas’.”

Raphael watched his youngest brother struggle. He thought he was going to vomit.

_‘Damn it, Raph, you really did it now.’_

Donatello and Leonardo looked to Raphael. Leonardo back away from the bed slowly. Meanwhile, Donatello knelt by Michelangelo’s head.

“Okay, Mikey. You can talk to ‘im. But not too long, alright? Y’gotta rest.”

Weakly, Michelangelo raised his shaky arm to reveal a thumb’s up.

The purple clad turtle grinned, rising from the ground. He and Leonardo walked towards the workroom door. On the way out, Donatello looked Raphael in the eye. Yet another heated exchange was coming.

“ **Two** minutes,” Donatello stated flatly, “And I’ll be **counting**.”

A gruff shoulder thud told Raphael his brother meant business.


	2. Chapter 2

“ **Two** minutes,” Donatello stated flatly, “And I’ll be **counting**.”

A gruff shoulder thud told Raphael his brother meant business.

Their stances stiff, Raphael’s brothers took to the door. Leonardo gave one last foreboding glance as he slammed it shut. Raphael lightly jumped at this, his bloodied hands still twitching. He didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to see what he’d done…

Pivoting on his feet, the red clad turtle fought his desire. At the risk of looking reproachful, he began his path to Michelangelo’s bedside. All the time, the gruesome scene played in his head…

_~”You’re just afraid t’ fight me,” the orange clad turtle jested, “An’ I don’t blame ya.”_

_Raphael’s brow dipped down. Eyes of flame predicted trouble._

_“Less talking. More fighting.”_

_Master Splinter gave the signal._

_“Hajime!”_

_Like two rams, the brothers collided. With his smaller stature, Michelangelo was able to wriggle a blow to Raphael’s knees. As he fell to the ground, the red clad turtle grunted. His adversary grinned._

_“Psh! Too easy.”_

_His cheeks glowing crimson, Raphael used his legs to flip the orange clad turtle on his back – to which, the opponent sprung up immediately after. Michelangelo waggled a cocky hand, egging his brother on._

_“’Zat all ya got?!”_

_Raphael grunted gruffly.Gnashing his teeth, Raphael charged once again. Coolly, Michelangelo dodged his fists as they punched at the air. Ducking and maneuvering, the orange clad turtle danced at Raphael’s attempted blows. He was starting to see red. Sweat permeated his brow and stung his eyes._

_“Y’ think,” Raphael stated, his breath shallow, “Y’you’re gonna win?!”_

_He drew back his arm, ready to punch once again. Blinking wildly, in an attempt to clear his vision, he’d lost sight of his rival. A tap to the shoulder forced him to turn around. There, Michelangelo’s smiling greeted him as he twisted Raphael’s arm backward._

_“No,” the orange clad brother scoffed, “I **know** I am.”_

_Like a pancake, Michelangelo flattened his brother to the ground. Pinning him almost effortlessly, both brothers knew the spar was won. The wise rat raised his hand._

_“Yame!”_

_Though Michelangelo had released his hold, Raphael shoved his brother’s plastron. Malice was on his tongue._

_“ **Get off**.”_

_Michelangelo’s once swaggering shifted – his eyebrows raising at his brother’s incensed tone. He said nothing, however, and pretended not to notice. Both brothers knelt before their sensei._

_“You both need to work on your technique,” Master Splinter critiqued, “Though I must say, Michelangelo… You displayed a fine level of calm defense on your part.”_

_Raphael rolled his eyes. “Psh, yeah okay,” he muttered under his breath._

_Splinter quirked an eyebrow, “As for you, **Raphael** … Once again, your emotions succeeded to get the better of you. You had many opportunities to gain the upper hand. However –”_

_“Yeah, yeah, yeah. ‘Temper, temper, temper’. Sing a new song, will ya?”_

_Michelangelo gasped at his brother’s haughtiness. The rat’s eyebrows crossed, his voice deepening._

_“You will exercise **respect** in this temple, Raphael. Or you will **leave** it.” _

_The red clad turtle, red in the face, pounced up from the floor._

_“Fine by me.”_

_He stomped from the dojo, not looking back. Not looking where he was going as he trudged into the common area, his oversight caused him to thud into Leonardo. The eldest, studying Raphael with conviction, greeted him with a smirk._

_“I guess we know who won the spar, huh?”_

_Donatello hopped up from the couch, his eyes smiling._

_“Whoo! I **knew** Mikey could do it!”_

_He turned to Leonardo, extending his palm._

_“Pay up.”_

_“Ugh, fine,” Leonardo huffed, “Fair’s fair, Don. You get my third slice at dinner.”_

_“Sweet!” the purple clad turtle cheered. He hummed a bit of a tune, sauntering to the couch. Though, this melody quickly ceased he caught site of Raphael’s grimace._

_“Uh,” Donatello cleared his throat, “I’m, uh… Yeah, I’m just gonna sit here.”_

_Leonardo, not wanting to face Raphael’s wrath, began to tiptoe away, as well._

_“I’ll, er, join ya, Don.”_

_Raphael continued to scowl, his nostrils flaring with each uneven exhale of air. Burly shoulders rose and fell in syncopation with incoherent grumbles._

_“M’s’r st’pid. J’s g’t **lucky** ’s’all it is. Th’nks ‘e’s **b’tt’r** th’n—”_

_“Raph?”_

_The red clad turtle’s mouth clasped shut at the sound of Michelangelo’s voice behind him. Raphael kept his back to his brother._

_“ **What?** ”Raphael’s tone was tight as a drum._

_“Um,” Michelangelo continued placidly, “I’m, er… Y’you fought good today.”_

_Raphael’s shoulders tensed._

_“Y’ wanna make fun of me s’more?”_

_“N-no! No, I –”_

_“’Cuz I coulda beat the crap outta you if I wanted to.”_

_Not sure what to say, Michelangelo lightly touch Raphael’s shoulder._

_“Raph –”_

_A firm swat pushed the hand away._

_“Don’t fucking **touch** me.”_

_Raphael slowly began to move. Michelangelo followed behind him like a shadow._

_“Look, I… I didn’t mean t’make you mad!”_

_“I don’t need your damn pity.”_

_“I don’t **pity** you, dude. I jus’ wanna make sure you’re alright.”_

_Raphael stopped abruptly in front of his bedroom door, causing Michelangelo to bump into his shell. With wild eyes, Raphael faced his brother._

_“If you know what’s good for ya, you’ll leave me alone.”_

_The red clad turtle reached for the doorknob – only to be stopped by the orange clad brother’s plastron. Desperate, blue eyes met Raphael’s piercing green ones._

_“Wait!”_

_Raphael’s impatience was becoming infuriation, and his voice reflected it._

_“ **Move** , Mikey.”_

_“No!”_

_“Move… Or I’ll move ya.”_

_“But-“_

_“I said, ‘ **MOVE** ’.”_

_With a grunt, Raphael shoved Michelangelo from the door frame. His force knocked the orange clad turtle to the floor. Hearing the struggle from the living room, Leonardo and Donatello rushed over. Donatello peeled his younger brother from the floor. Leonardo was fuming._

_“W-what the- **Raph** , what’s the **matter** with you?! I-“_

_Michelangelo extended a hand, wanting to speak for himself. His eyebrows furrowed, as he too was now losing his patience._

_“Look, Raph… I-it was just a spar, okay? It’s not that big of a deal. And… and you don’t gotta be such a **sore loser** about it!”_

_Snap._

_Raphael lunged at Michelangelo. Without hesitation, the red clad turtle’s rage blinded him in a fit of fury. His fists had minds of their own. Between blows to the face, Michelangelo attempted to cry out._

_“ **Nhh**!”_

_‘Whack!’ went his left hand._

_“ **R-h** hih!”_

_‘Bam!’ went his right._

_“R’a **’hhh**!”_

_Michelangelo struggled to call out – his face starting to swell like a balloon._

_“S-st’stoooop,” he muttered through puffed cheeks._

_Raphael’s strikes were rapid-fire. All the time, Raphael’s enraged eyes streamed with hot tears as he hollered._

_“ **’Sore loser’** , huh? **Who’s the sore loser now**?!”_

_Donatello and Leonard struggled to pry Raphael from their little brother. His anger strengthened him: every punch shook their hands from gripping his flailing arms._

_“ **Raph, you’re hurting him**!” Donatello’s scream could curdle blood._

_“ **Get off**!” Leonardo chanted, madly grabbing at Raphael’s torso. _

_Raphael grunted, maintaining his steady pace. That is, until a shrill cry sent shivers up his back._

_“ **ENOUGH!** ”_

_With the strength of his single paw, Splinter severed the infuriated turtle from his victim. He flung Raphael about a foot into the air, throwing him backward unforgivingly. Once Raphael had found his footing, he went to charge back. However, the sight before him stiffened him dead in his tracks…_

_There it was, right on the floor. An inflamed, almost unrecognizable face helplessly sobbed. Though his eyes were swollen shut, a slivery mixture of blood and tears still trickled down his battered cheek. Blood leaked out of every orifice: his nose, his eyes, and even his left ear. Forced breaths struggled to choke out between sobs and gags. And this face – Raphael shuddered - belonged to his brother?_

_He… gave this face to his brother?_

_Soon, the sobbing became mostly gagging._

_“Ccccaaaan’t… b-brrrreeeeathe,” Michelangelo begged, his breath labored and muffled._

_Leonardo and Donatello caught him as his body dead-weighted into a faint. They rushed him to the infirmary, quickening their pace. Raphael watched them; his stare longing, yet unfocused as he saw double. Almost in a trance, the turtle sulked to the dojo._

_“Raphael?”_

_Master Splinter’s call was like an echoey dream. He couldn’t focus on it. He couldn’t focus on anything. He just kept walking, zombified. He stared at the dojo’s wall – shifting his gaze down at his fists._

_The weapons._

**_His_ ** _weapons._

_That **he** used._

_Against his own brother._

_Tears spilled from his clenched eyes. Tensing his muscles, he geared up: drawing back his right arm before crashing it into the brick wall._

_“N’raaaaaah!”_

_His yell made his own ears ring. He seethed in pain for only a second. Then, he brought his left arm into position to repeat the action._

_“Y’raaaaaah!”_

_His pace accelerated. Just like it had with Michelangelo… When he pummeled him to a pulp. ~_

Looking at that face again, Raphael forced back the urge to vomit. He knelt down, getting a better look at the mess he’d created. Averting his eyes, Raphael’s voice came out shakier than he’d intended.

“Hey, Mikey…”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It's been a while since I've written TMNT, so forgive me if I'm rusty. This is not my usual style, but I wanted to try something new... Hope you enjoy it!


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